


Indenture

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Community: sga_kinkmeme, Drama, F/M, Master/Slave, Porn Battle, Slave!John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the Pegasus expedition, the military personnel in Atlantis are slaves to the civilians; Elizabeth gives John to Teyla as a diplomatic gesture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. who holds his bond

**Author's Note:**

> For the SGA Kinkmeme, prompt: John/Teyla, slavery. AU in which the military personnel are in Atlantis as slaves of the civilians. Elizabeth gives John to Teyla as a diplomatic gesture.

When the door to her quarters slides back upon her return, Teyla has near-forgotten that she was gifted with a slave in the earlier negotiations.

He looks up from where it seems he has been studying the carpet, and his eyes rest steady on her face. His expression is careful and masked, but for no reason Teyla can discern, she feels her skin grow warm.

This morning he stood behind Dr. Weir's shoulder; on her left side to match the older man - Colonel Sumner - who stood at her right-hand. Then, among his own people, he seemed harmless - his expression as easy as Sumner's was stiff. He betrayed nothing as Elizabeth gave him into Teyla's care.

A 'diplomatic gift' were the words the Earther woman used.

At the time, Teyla had supposed him to be one part liaison, one part aide, one part spy.

Now, upon finding him in her quarters, she readjusts that view.

"John Sheppard, isn't it?"

"That's my name." He regards her steadily, without flinching. "What should I call you?"

"Teyla will do." She sees him blink before he schools his expression to the calm impassivity of before. "Is that not the right answer?"

"No, it's fine."

Standing in her room he seems...taller. Broader across the shoulders. If he was uneasy at having his bond passed over to a stranger, there was no sign of it in his stance - at ease, with his hands held behind his back. But then, she supposes, he would be accustomed to this.

She wonders what he is like in bed. A brief wondering that she puts firmly away.

Teyla does not need a lover right now. And even if she did, she would not choose this man - strange and stranger. He is a gift, yes, but one which comes with obligation attached - his obligation to his people, shown in the collar around his throat that marks his indenture; her obligation to those who gave her this gift - the inducement of owing.

"So, John Sheppard," she says, supposing that they had best get it out into the open. "What should I do with you?"

He blinks, apparently surprised by her question. "Anything you want."

Teyla sighs. Wanting is not the same as giving in. "You may sleep in the bed tonight," she says, indicating the broad, solid bed. "But tomorrow, we will have to see about getting you your own quarters."

\--

John's not used to sleeping in all his clothes, though. Usually, they leave him naked after sex - a reminder of his indenture.

Sometime after midnight, Teyla Emmagan turns over in the bed and he thinks, _Oh, thank God._ Because if she fucks him as senseless as he initially thought she would, then maybe he can get some sleep instead of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Do you need to remove your clothes to sleep?"

He stares at her although he can't see her expression in the dark. Disappointment steals his voice for a moment, and his throat works to get even one syllable out. "Yes."

"Very well. But please remain on your side of the bed."

She doesn't even peek at him as he undresses - everything but his collar. Her shoulders don't move when he climbs back in, or when he lies beside her, bare skin against fine linen.

He stares up at the ceiling, his pride stung by her rejection.

Maybe she doesn't know she can demand that of him. Except he's pretty sure Dr. Weir would have told her - and if she didn't, someone else would have. Dr. McKay certainly would, just for the pleasure of thinking John wouldn't want to perform under duress.

So he's good enough to accept, but not good enough to use?

John supposes it's not the first time.

He tries to sleep without snuggling up against the warm body he can feel mere inches away and wakes in the morning, unrested, unfulfilled, and very much alone in the bed.


	2. who bends with the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the events of The Storm; Aiden thinks he understands...

Teyla follows Aiden through the quiet halls of Atlantis, Carson moving less quietly behind them.

As they pause at an intersection, the young soldier turns his head and grimaces. "Could I ask a favour, Teyla? Would you...?" He lifts his jaw, indicating the dogtags on his collar. They do not jingle, exactly, but the metallic clink is not something they wish the Genii to hear right now.

Teyla allows her weapon to hang heavy from its strap as she tucks one of the tags neatly under his collar. His skin is warm, but she is careful to be brisk about it, and not make too much noise. Aiden rolls his head from side to side, testing the pressure of the small rectangular square against his throat. "Thanks."

"One more reason I'm glad not to be wearing one of those things," mutters Carson behind them. "I don't know how you stand it."

"Part of the job, Doc." He glances down at the lifesigns detector and indicates the right branch of the corridor. "Four coming this way."

"You do know I'm a terrible shot, don't you, son?"

She flashes him a reassuring smile. "Just please do not shoot us."

"Easier said than done, my dear."

But when the adrenaline fades, there are four Genii down, and one of them is by Carson's hand. He looks pale as he surveys the body, regret in his eyes. He is a man for healing, not a man to kill - even in necessity, and Teyla knows this will weigh on his conscience in spite of the need.

Aiden retrieves one of the Genii radios and tosses her another, then disarms the dead with practicality. "Probably headed for the 'jumper bay." He glances at Teyla, seeking confirmation and she nods in agreement with his reasoning.

"But they've got Atlantis already."

"The city is not secured," Teyla considers the situation. "Colonel Sheppard is yet defying them, and he might be only one man, but this is familiar ground to him, and the city does not respond to their will. If they are not certain they could hold the city, they will remove what can be taken."

"So what else are they going to try to take?"

There is an order to these things, Teyla has discovered in the last few months. The bonded military look to their superiors for matters that pertain to their jobs, but to their civilian masters for matters pertaining to the personal. However, she has noticed that the younger bonded males look to her as an authority in both military and personal matters - most likely because she holds their superior officer's bond.

It still surprises her that Dr Weir did not ask for the return of John's bond after Colonel Sumner's death, although she is not exactly sorry--

 _Dr. Weir._ Her breath catches. "Commander Kolya. He has hostages."

Carson takes only a moment to catch on. "Oh, no. He wouldn't. Surely!"

"Oh, yes, he would," says Aiden grimly. "Indentured servitude to the Genii. _Unlimited_ indenture."

Teyla grimaces. "Then he must not be allowed the opportunity."

\--

"Sir?"

"Lieutenant?"

"This is probably outta line, but...I understand why you haven't asked for release from Teyla's indenture, sir."

John feels the frown twitch across his face, but keeps his face neutral as he turns to regard the young man walking beside him on their way back from the city check. "Do you?"

"She's really something. I mean, not like _that_. Although..." Dark eyes glance John's way before the young man thinks the better of following that line of conversation. "She was good during the crisis. Kept the doc from panicking, backed me up, thought ahead."

"She's got a cool head," John says, carefully non-committal.

Usually, when they wait this long to bed him, there's a game involved. But this is Teyla; she doesn't play those kinds of games.

"Sir?"

John takes one look at Ford's expression, caught between curiosity and courtesy, and glares. "You ask that question, Lieutenant, you _will_ be out of line."

Speculation is rife on whether he's being used or not. Teyla hasn't said, and John's not about to give an indication either way. She likes him enough to hang out with him in their free time - learning about Earth culture while he learns about Pegasus. He's made subtle inquiries as to whether she's got a lover among her own people - she doesn't.

He's even thought about breaking the rules and climbing into her bed one night without permission. Rejection or acceptance - at least he'd know.

They make their way back to the conference room where they're bunking down for the remainder of the storm. As they enter, Teyla looks up from the laptop screen open in front of her.

Her eyes slide over John in assessment, and his collar is suddenly too tight and not tight enough.


	3. who sees the path forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during 'The Runner'. Rodney is tactless; John is jealous.

"You want him on the team? _Our_ team?"

Teyla exchanges a look with John as their team-mate makes his disbelief quite clear. Rodney is nothing if not expressive.

"Why not? He hates the Wraith, he's a good fighter, he can't stay a guest in Atlantis forever and he's got nowhere else to go..." John reels off the major reasons like he's been waiting for someone to ask. It is, Teyla thinks, quite possible that he has. John is nothing if not prepared for argument.

"You have cleared this with Elizabeth?"

John frowns a little at her question, as though the answer is obvious. "Of course."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Rodney holds up his hands. "You mean, he'd take the indenture just to fight the Wraith?"

Teyla interrupts as John opens his mouth. "I do not know that Ronon Dex would be willing to be bonded. His military did not bond their people, and I do not think he would take well to the idea of being indentured."

Blue eyes turn on her, horrified. "But if he doesn't take the bond, what's to stop him from...I don't know...slaughtering us all?"

There are moments when Teyla wonders that a man as intelligent as Rodney can be so stupid. Then again, it might very well be that the military indenture so common in the various cultures of Earth has been the sparing of his life more than once. His comments are nothing if not injudicious.

"Geeze, Rodney. Way to be offensive!"

"Look, I'm just saying...there's a reason we keep you people on leashes! How are we supposed to trust this guy if he doesn't have any restraint?"

Between 'you people' and 'how are we supposed to trust this guy', Teyla supposes that John's, "I'm exerting a _lot_ of restraint right now, Rodney," is to be expected.

"John."

She regrets her intervention when Rodney crows.

"See? Now what if he hadn't been bonded?"

"Then he would still refrain from smacking you as I am now," Teyla retorts. On the other side of the table, John is fuming quietly. He is not an intemperate man by nature, but Rodney is more than capable of driving anyone to distraction. He simply does not seem to _think_ of what he is about to say and what it might mean to others. "Colonel Sheppard does not need my collar on him to be self-controlled."

"And a collar isn't a guarantee." John bites the words off. "Ford broke his indenture."

"Ford was crazycakes! And so is this Dex guy." Rodney looks at John, his eyes narrow. "Wait, you said Elizabeth okayed this? Did she know he wasn't going to be bonded?"

"Yes."

That gives Rodney something to think about. For at least a minute, while John fiddles with whatever game he and Rodney are playing against each other on his laptop. Beneath the band of John's collar, Teyla can see the cords of his throat standing out, tense.

"Well," says Rodney at last, "I guess if Elizabeth gave it the green light... But I still don't like it."

"You do not have to like it, Rodney," Teyla tells him. "But if Ronon remains in Atlantis, you will have to accustom yourself to it."

\--

"Doesn't the collar annoy you?"

The question comes as they leave the mess hall, and John supposes it's a good sign. It means Dex trusts him to be honest about what it means to be military in Atlantis - or else to lie badly enough that the guy can work out the real deal from John's answers.

"You get used to it."

"And the sex?"

"That, too." When you're having it.

Teyla trades on his indenture at her discretion, which means 'hardly at all' in command and 'not at all' in bed. But she's not slow to put in an opinion when she has something to say that hasn't been said, so John's stopped looking her way when he makes decisions.

So far, it's working pretty well.

He just has this fantasy where he gets called on the carpet and she tells him in exquisite detail what he has to do to earn his forgiveness. And then he gets down on his knees and...

A man's allowed his fantasies. Even if he knows better than to act them out

"Does it bother you?" He asks as they pause to let a gaggle of scientists go past, noting the way they edge carefully around Dex, as though he might go beserk on them.

"Yeah." They step into the transporter. "If they're going to react to me like that all the time."

"They'll get used to you." After a while. During which Dex is going to have to learn to put up with jumpy civilians.

Dex is silent until they step out of the transporter. "Teyla offered to hold my bond if it became necessary."

John's mouth is suddenly dry and bitter. "She offered?"

"If there wasn't another way."

He forces himself to think rationally. Teyla's not using him in bed, there's no reason to think she'd use Dex that way.

John glances sideways at the Satedan man - all sleek skin, hard muscle, and sculpted bone. Unbonded. Dangerous. Handsome.

Yeah, no reason at all.


	4. who breaks his word

Teyla wakes to someone sliding into her bed.

A moment later, she is straddling John on the floor beside the bed, his eyes shadowed beneath his brow as she looks down at him, her hand hard up against his throat.

Bare chest, bare arms, bare hips, bare thighs... John is naked but for his collar, and Teyla swallows as he levers himself up on his elbows. Beneath her thighs, strong muscles flex, and she holds herself carefully still as his fingers lightly clasp her knees, hot flesh against her skin.

"It's just me," he says. "I came to check that you were okay."

"Why would I not be?"

"This morning. When I...forced you."

"You did not know what you were doing." Her voice is calm, and Teyla wonders that it does not quiver with the soft, subtle tension his thumbs are stroking into her body. Does he realise his actions? Their consequences? She believes not. Carson believes the Iratus is affecting his judgement; John is not himself.

She should protest his touch, yet her tongue cannot form the words, and she cannot draw deep breath.

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't say sorry."

"Then consider it said." Teyla makes herself smile, makes herself move. She should not remain here or she will take advantage of him. She must not lean back on his hips, press her cleft against the mound of his stiffening flesh, and rock against him...

Beneath her, John makes a muffled sound of pleasure - a moan, swiftly stifled. But not swift enough.

Teyla's breath catches in her throat as her mind clears and she realises what she was doing. She did not intend--

She is just rising as John's hands catch at her wrists and pull her back down to him. The thick thrust of his erection presses hard between her thighs, flush against her cleft, and his eyes are upon her as he shifts his hips against her, igniting fire between her thighs.

"Please," is all he says and it sounds like he is begging. Then his mouth is hot on hers, tender and taking, and Teyla cannot think or protest or refuse under the onslaught of his seduction.

For once, she does not want to think or protest or refuse him.

How long has she wanted this? Long enough. She could demand it, as by right, but it would be an empty submission - a slave obeying his owner. And no man should be a tool, whether for killing or for pleasure. John should not be used as a thing, left without the freedom to choose.

And yet, his hands slip under her shirt without her urging, and his hips rock against her core so lightly and sweetly through the silky sleeping shorts. Teyla yearns as his mouth moves down her throat and his hands slide up her waist, dragging her sleeping shirt with them.

Then there is cool air on her shoulders and the roughness of his cheek against her skin, sensitising her flesh for when his lips roam her body,  nibbling and nipping her collarbone with his teeth, caressing the curve of her breast with his mouth, stroking her breastbone with with long flicks of his tongue and the hard suction of his lips on her nipples.

Teyla's body is molten fire, liquid under John's hands and John's mouth, given over to the demands of pleasure and the building fire in her loins.

When John presses his cheek against her inner thigh, she is beyond thinking. She crests effortlessly under his ministrations, her hips pressing deeper into his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair as he drives her over and over and over until she is boneless, thoughtless, sated.

Sunlight wakens her, warm and gold across the bed where she was tucked last night. But there is no-one beside her in the bed; Teyla wakes alone.

\--

John stands in the room and doesn't look at the bed. He clasps his hands behind his back, at parade rest. And when Teyla pauses as she sees him, he knows what's coming.

He's never been manumitted before.

Nancy doesn't count.

He tells himself he earned this. Earned every moment of shame and punishment that he'll get when they find out what he did to her. What he never asked for and she never granted him but which he pushed upon her anyway.

"I want to apologise. For what I did."

"I-- There is no need--" Thank God she bites off the platitudes before she can complete them. "Your apology is accepted, John."

It's a hazy memory now, lost in the days of transformation into the Iratus, and the weeks of transformation back, but John remembers some details clear enough. He came into her room, undressed, and seduced her. Pulled her back down when she tried to get up. Tasted her without her permission. Stroked and licked and suckled every inch he could reach, then fucked her with his tongue until her knees gave out.

But pleasure isn't a substitute for permission. And the Iratus is reason, not excuse.

Worst of all, he'll remember every moment of it. The taste of her. The feel of her. The sounds she made  in the throes of orgasm. The way her hands clenched on his head as she rode his mouth. What he did while under the influence of the Iratus and the possibilities he lost because of it are the same thing.

"Did you want-- Have you spoken to Elizabeth yet?"

John doesn't want to have that conversation either, but it'll have to be done. Elizabeth remanded him into Teyla's indenture; she has the right to know why Teyla's handing him back.

"Why?"

"About the indenture."

A wrinkle creases her brow as she looks at him. "I do not understand."

He stills. "Aren't you releasing my bond?"

Another wrinkle joins the first. "You were...not yourself. I regret what happened, but I had not planned-- Unless you wish--?"

"No." John keeps his voice level. "No."

"Then we shall just...keep on keeping on." Teyla nods as though that has decided it, and moves briskly around him to put her coat away.

John gets back to his rooms before the trembling takes him.

Bullet dodged, but barely.


	5. who upsets the balance

It's Elizabeth who brings it up during the meeting. "One more thing. If we're going to continue the experiment with Michael, then we should probably start to set up his indenture."

John frowns. "You haven't already arranged it?"

"I haven't yet spoken with Teyla about it."

Elizabeth looks expectantly at Teyla, and it's at this moment that Teyla realises the expedition leader's intent was that Teyla should take on Michael's bond.

She does not look at John as she answers. "I had not considered it."

"Well, the story is that he's a member of the military, so he should be mastered. If you don't want to do it, I'll hold his bond. But he seems to respond best to you out of anyone in the expedition."

"I believe it would be best if you held his indenture," she tells Elizabeth, keeping her words simple and her expression neutral. "So there is no misunderstanding."

She trusts John is master of his expression, but she does not need to look at him to know his abject rejection of such a thought. She knows John.

They have not spoken more of what happened while he was under the Iratus influence; John has not approached her in bed again, and Teyla has not commanded his presence in it. Things have continued much as they were before: a delicate equilibrium.

Until now.

After the meeting, John catches up with her. "Where are you headed now?"

"The gym."

"Still sparring with Ronon?" Then his expression shifts, growing subtly stiff. "Kenmore."

"Carson thinks it will be an important part of his physical therapy - accustoming his mind to the limits of his body."

"Yeah. It's probably a good idea."

Yet even as he says the words, Teyla knows his opinions to be otherwise. It is on her lips to tell him that it is not like the sparring they used to practise before the Iratus...but she holds back. The conflicts in John are hard to read - other than that they are there. He regrets seducing her; she regrets letting him do so.

Still, sometimes he looks at her and her body aches. Sometimes she wishes he was not hers to command - that she could ask and trust that he would act because he wished it, not because she asked it. And sometimes she thinks about ordering him to her bed and fucking him until her body is raw and he has no voice left to protest her usage.

Dangerous dreams.

Michael, at least, is without that danger.

So she thinks.

What starts as harmless, his defences slow and halting, suddenly takes a new turn as his instincts recall the flow of muscle and tendon, the interplay of action and reaction. His speed and strength take them both by surprise, and Teyla finds herself laid out on the mat, breathless with delighted laughter.

"Very well done!"

He grins down at her, pale skin flushed with triumph. "I didn't think I could. But..."

Words grind to a halt as he looks down into her face, and she sees the change come over him, subtle as John's expressions, dangerous as John's desire. Queen to male, commander to commanded, ruler to subject, Michael is _hers_ \- just as John is, she realises.

Never before has she been so glad of Ronon's protectiveness; his intervention prevents her from doing anything rash.

That night she imagines someone in her bed: fervent kisses, hot hands, soft urgings, fevered thrusts.

When Teyla wakes, her nipples are hard and swollen, her cleft is aching and wet, and she does not know which man moved her so.

\--

John waits just inside the infirmary for Carson to finish checking Teyla and finds himself fingering his collar, the soft leather band he's worn for nearly half his lifetime. For nearly a month, the Wraith they called Michael wore exactly the same collar, thinking himself human, believing himself to be in the military.

Wanting Teyla to master him.

Thankfully, Teyla rejected Elizabeth's idea. John doesn't know what he'd have done if she'd accepted Michael's leash.

He's come to accept she won't use him the way he wants; but he won't accept her using anyone else that way.

"And here's John to see you safe to your quarters."

He lets his hand drop to his side as Teyla comes out from behind the privacy screen Carson is folding back. "Hey. You okay?"

She smiles, cool and careful. Distant. "Carson says I am well."

"Other than the abrasions about her wrists and a little shock, she seems in fine fettle." The doc is determinedly cheerful in the face of his failed experiment. "Now you're to rest, Teyla. That means no sparring with the Colonel here, nor with Ronon. And it means not letting Rodney natter at you about the Wraith specs he's gotten his hands upon from the hive incursion. _Rest_."

Now the smile warms. "Thank you, Carson."

John forces himself not to let his expression betray him, but wonders if the doc doesn't see it anyway. He's given away a lot in the last couple of months. Maybe too much.

They start the walk to her quarters in silence, and John keeps a half-step behind and hopes that she doesn't notice him watching her. But she turns her head to look at him, forcing him to speak.

"I'm sorry I let him get you."

"You could not know. How could anyone?"

It's on his tongue to say that he should have known; he's hers, even if she won't admit it or use him. But Teyla doesn't get that.

"I should have," is all he says.

"You take too much upon yourself, John."

It's a light censure as they go - John's had way worse. But there's something about the way Teyla says it that makes his breath catch - as erotic as if she took him by his dick and shoved him back against the wall to ache.

Kate thinks it's no surprise Michael responded to Teyla's leash; the instincts of Wraith males is submission to a queen - and if Elizabeth is the leader, Teyla is the closest thing to a Wraith Queen in Atlantis, as Michael was once a Wraith male.

John thinks it's no surprise Michael responded to Teyla's leash; she's Teyla.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and this is the story so far. I'm still deciding whether I want to take it further. Things are rather busy around here right now.


	6. who claims her own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For oxoniensis' Porn Battle XII - prompt 'yield'.

Standing before the door of John’s quarters, Teyla is not sure why she is here.

Anger burns beneath her breastbone as she rings the chime to let John know that he has a guest. Words press against her lips and tongue and teeth as she waits to be answered. Yet Teyla knows what she has to say to John could wait until the morrow, when sleep and the night have restored his strength and her perspective.

She nearly walks away.

Then the door opens.

John stands there, towel clad and sodden-haired, his collar damp around his neck, a faint frown wrinkling his brow. “Hey, Teyla.”

“I wish to speak with you.”

Her finger on his chest propels him backwards into the room. He doesn’t resist, although he almost stumbles before he finds his footing again, his dogtags jingling at his throat.

“Um, alright. Is everything okay?”

She can read the confusion on his face, can hear him trying to work out what’s going on. Only she does not know what it is that has a hold of her, so how can he?

This morning, she watched him dying, tortured by Kolya at the hand of a Wraith and felt grief - regret that it should come to this - a life lost . This afternoon, she watched his life restored by that same Wraith in payment for their escape.

This evening she looks at him, whole and physically hale, and something rises in her, unbidden, unstoppable.

John stands there in the middle of his room, feet planted, one hand holding the towel about his waist. His collar is dark against the pale of his throat, and the red welt of the Wraith’s feeding remains in the centre of his chest.

She lets her fingers trace the mark and feels his breath tremble in his chest. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” he rasps.

Teyla slides her fingers down his belly, across hot skin damp from shower steam. And John neither protests nor clutches when her fingers close about the towel edge, easing it from his grasp. A flush rises in his cheeks as his body also rises beneath her gaze, but when she looks up at his face, his expression is all hunger, all need.

He wants this.

So does Teyla.

Her blood heats and her clothing feels tight as she runs her hands across the long lines of his body. That other time, under the Iratus, he gave her no space to think or appreciate, no time to tease and be titillated.

This time, Teyla makes time.

His hands clench into fists as she strokes his shoulders. He arches his back when she licks his spine. Shivers take him as she rubs her fingers along the creases of muscle and tendon.

But when she takes his erection in her hands and rubs the length of him, he groans, “No.”

Her brow arches, forgotten anger rising. She doesn’t stop her caresses, teasing hot flesh with tracing fingers. How dare he deny her? “No?”

“You haven’t... You’re not...” He bites his lip and closes his eyes, then opens them. “May I?”

Teyla steps back, dropping her hands from him, and sees the way he pokers up. He flirts with rejection, perhaps he even craves it at some level - a familiar humiliation. But he wants this.

So does she.

It is why she crosses to the door and keys in the lock before turning back to him. “You may,” she tells him.

When he crosses the room to fill her vision, Teyla has a moment of misgiving. Then his mouth is on her skin and his hands are stroking her through her clothing, and the ache between her thighs is sharp.

 

She yields to his desire, and he undoes her.

\--

It’s been a busy day.

This morning, John woke on cold stone with an ache in his bones and the sinking knowledge that the ache would be thre every morning from today. This evening, he’s free and his body feels great - all the more because he’s buck naked and being ridden by Teyla like there’s a race on and she intends to win.

She feels so good on him; hot, slick, and unashamedly perfect, even through the condom. She’s close, her head thrown back, her body arched back as her hips pump over him. John ducks his head to suck a nipple into his mouth, and her whimper is like a goad in his balls.

He pants with the effort of remaining controlled, trying to remember his training. It’s wrong to come before the owner does, and he doesn’t usually have this problem. But she’s taken so long to claim him that he never thought--

She pushes closer, burying her face in his neck - so close! John splays his hands on her back and holds on as she gasps, and her body shudders around him, squeezing him to the edge.

He doesn’t go over, aching for it, but holding on by sheer force of will.

John’s good at self-control, good at holding back. But he’s never had an owner who held off longer than a week. If nothing else, it was about reminding him who controlled him.

But two years waiting have taken its toll, and this isn’t about domination, anymore.

Except where it is.

Her gasp signals her completion, but John keeps rocking inside her, wanting so bad he can taste it in his mouth, but unwilling to go there. He wants to yield. It’s his due under her mastery, and God help him, but after she let him think that he wasn’t good enough to fuck, he needs her to make him yield.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

She lifts her face from his throat. “Do you need my permission?”

“I...” He can’t stop rocking, can’t hide from her eyes. “Yes. Please.”

Her eyes are hazy, but even desire can’t mask the steel in her gaze - too piercing, too clear. Her head tilts to regard him, lazy-lidded, yet almost thoughtful. “I could make you.”

 _Oh God_. John nearly comes right there with her threat - only that would defeat the purpose. He claws at his vaunted control, shredded tatters under her hips, her hands, her eyes.

“Please.”

Her mouth hovers over his - untouched territory, because a kiss is intimate and thank God she knows she seems to know that because he doesn’t know what he’d do if she...if he let himself think...if he forgot...

She doesn’t kiss him. Instead she whispers two words.

“Yes, John.”

He spills what feels like an ocean of semen into her, the gush of it like tears of relief. It’s still not as relieving as her acknowledgement - finally! - that he’s hers.

He belongs to Teyla Emmagan. And it feels goddamned fantastic.

 **tbc?**


End file.
